


Kawiarnia

by lesbleusthroughandthrough



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Polish National Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:43:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4682465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbleusthroughandthrough/pseuds/lesbleusthroughandthrough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh my God,” he said. “His second name ends in a ‘y’. Please Anna,” Lewy begged, “let me unleash the adverb possibilities.”<br/>-<br/>I am a barista and you’re the obnoxious customer who comes through and orders a venti machiatto while talking on the phone the whole time so I misspell your name in increasingly creative ways every day AU/ I’m a busy businessperson and my barista keeps misspelling my name in increasingly disrespectful ways honestly who does this person think they are AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kawiarnia

**Author's Note:**

> This minibang was a whole load of fun (more than I thought it would be!) and a nice push to finally write/finish this fic, so I'm really glad I signed up. A big thank you to the artist [ascience](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ascience/profile) , who was great partner throughout and did an awesome job, don't you think? ^^  
> Also big thanks to Charlie for the beta!
> 
> "Kawiarnia" is Polish for _coffee house_ , as I have been led to believe.

**Mix by ascience [[here](http://8tracks.com/ascience/kawiarnia)]**

[](http://8tracks.com/ascience/kawiarnia) 

 

 

 

 

Woj could now safely add “soaking wet” to his list of substantial problems; of which “late”, “starving”, “in trouble” were already members.

However, “soaking wet”, of them all was probably the most pressing and uncomfortable.

But, already the rest were hot on his heels, as the bus pulled off into distance made hazy by the strength of the downpour. And his feet slapped to a stop on the pavement just under the bus shelter probably about half a minute too late.

 _Dammit_ , he thought, watching the red brake lights of the 16A winking at him before they vanished around the corner. _Dammit_ , dammit.

This was his own fault. It was his alarm’s fault this morning, for being far too easy to put on snooze. But for the most part, if he traced far enough back; this was his own fault.

But he’d just really needed a smoke that day; he had been completely, totally, _gagging_ for it (Jack’s cold turkey suggestion had never sounded like a good one anyway) and he’d heard about that trick for covering up the fire alarm. But, obviously, the plastic bag cover-up trick just wasn’t for him. And yeah, an entire evacuated and soaked floor and thirty or so unhappy office co-workers later, and he could understand his boss’ vendetta against him. A bit. Opening up the office during audit week and being on probation was definitely still better than having no job at all.

He straightened, wheezing and pressing one hand into the stitch at his side and the cramp from the over-stretch of his lungs.

Ugh. Smoking really was just bad news.

He pulled down the sleeve of his jacket; it was so wet he had to peel it off the glass face of his watch.

Okay. Okay so he’d just missed the quarter-to-seven bus. He now had a twenty minute wait until the next one. Wenger always arrived at half seven, and if his office wasn’t open and the interior exactly twenty-one degrees Celsius…

He swore, probably too inappropriately for the old dear also sitting inside the shelter, who jumped.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but.

 _My ass is on the line. On my first day of redemption. Just fuck_ everything.

Oh, but he could already see smirky Ospina cackling as he swaggered over to _Woj’s_ cubicle to get _Woj’s_ accounts.

Jack had reassured him that Ospina was actually a very nice guy, and that all of Woj’s vampire comparisons were wholly unnecessary. “You just don’t like him,” Jack would say, “because he actually does your job better than you.”

Look, in Woj’s books; that was a perfectly reasonable argument not to like the guy. And, whatever: he totally did look like a vampire.

 _No Woj._ He told himself. _You do not panic. This is_ not _panic. You stress_ , _you swear_ , _but you do not panic. Get a grip. Make a plan._

He pushed his sopping hair back from his face, tugging it back flat against his head.

Then he had an idea.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket: the only dry thing about him today, apparently. He scrolled down until he found “Wilsh”, then hesitated.

He glared up with venom at the steady drum roll of the raindrops against the plastic shelter roof. His angry stare could stop a lot of things- Lolo mid-sentence, photocopiers and even sometimes traffic- but he didn’t fancy his chances against the elements. It was too loud to make this call here.

He looked around desperately, and there it was: the coffee shop across the road had opened up, and the golden glow of its windows was welcoming and warm against the deep blue shade of the too-early morning.

He pushed his hair off his face one more time, braced himself to re-live a prolonged version of the ice bucket challenge, and started across the road.

 

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Lewy tucked the last chair under the very last table, the end of his heavy lifting for the morning, and wandered back over to the counter. “I’m saying that, as a free individual, I get to reserve the opinion that you are not right.”

Anna leaned against the till when he lifted up the flap and manoeuvred back to the staff side of the counter. She crossed her arms. “You’re making no sense. That’s exactly what it means.”

“Look,” Lewy reached for one of the muffins on the display, only to have his fingers slapped back by a perfectly manicured hand. “Ow! I’m sorry, but were we both not subjected to the same movie yesterday?”

“No muffins, Robert,” she said. Anna and his mother were the only individuals in the world who were allowed to call him “Robert”. “I can feel my arteries hardening just looking at them.”

“That’s you,” Lewy moaned, cradling his fingers close and groaning dramatically enough to be annoying. “My arteries feel nothing of the sort. In fact, my arteries are too soft. They need reinforcement.”

Anna flicked her long, smooth, ombré-d ponytail over her other shoulder. “Listen to me, because this is part of your cinematic education, alright?” She straightened the peak of her cap, light blue like the aprons they both wore over their regulation white t-shirt and brown slacks. “ _The Breakfast Club_ is a classic. No: it is _the_ classic. It’s dated, probably: but I repeat, it is _not_ _bad_.”

“It is _so_ bad,” Lewy said. He unhooked a tea towel from beside the sink. “I would even so as far as to call it _lame_. I didn’t get it. I was so _bored_.” Anna kicked out at his shin and he whipped the towel back in retaliation, bowed in a defensive stance. “ _Nothing happened_. And everyone talks about that guy and his punch at the end, but it- _hey_!” Anna’s foot caught him square in the thigh.

“I don’t know why you try,” she said, lightly. “Oh,” she continued, when Lewy stretched one end of the towel back now and took aim. “Really. We’ve been through this, Robert. You know I will always end up kicking your ass.”

Lewy lashed out with the towel but with a flash of her hand, Anna caught it; yanking him forward until he lost his balance and let go.

 “Okay,” he admitted, holding up one finger to emphasise his point, because she was twirling the cloth around her hand, smirking rather victoriously. “ _Just_ because you got the one up on me in hand-to-hand combat this time-“

“ _Always_ -“

“ _This time_ , does not mean-“

The bell at the front door to the coffee shop dinged and they both paused. Lewy drew himself to his full height and pretended to lean nonchalantly back against the counter. They rarely got customers before the morning raid on his muffins (Anna called it “breakfast”), but there was always that _one_.

This particular one looked like he’d just walked through a tidal wave. And, unhelpfully, stepped _over_ the welcome mat that was meant to dry his feet and straight on to the tiled floor, leaving a large puddle in his wake that made Lewy’s fingers twitchy for the mop. But of course, this customer could not possibly have noticed; due to the shouty nature of the conversation he was now having with his phone pressed to his ear.

“-listen to me, dipshit!” The customer wrung out his other, drenched arm; sending droplets of water flying around the empty coffee shop.

Lewy crossed his arms and let his fingers sink in to his shirt. By now he had perfected smiling politely through a whole conversation instead of punching people, but this guy had been in the room less than a second and already he was close to smacking him in to the next century.

“-No, _no_! _Get the fuck out of bed_. I need you at the office in the next twenty or I- _Fine._ If that’s the fucking price I have to-“, the customer sucked his teeth and looked up at the menu. “Don’t give me that _bullshit_. Of _course_ you have a key _. Get your ass up._ Hey!”

It took both Lewy and Anna a second to realise that he was addressing them.

Anna blinked on her usual smile. “What can I get you?” she asked.

The customer nodded at the board. “A macchiato to go,” he said, in the same decibel. “Uh, with soy milk. The biggest size you have.”

“Do you mean a venti?” Anna asked, smoothly.

There was a moment of abrupt tension in the air when the customer frowned and Anna’s smiled hardened and Lewy prepared to crack warning knuckles.

“Whatever your biggest one is,” he said eventually.

“Of course, sir.” Anna was so much better at the pleasantries than Lewy, but she gave Lewy a sideways glance as if to say: _get this dudebro his coffee before he starts shouting like that at_ us _._

Lewy moved over in front of the coffee machine in one smooth movement.

“Are you out of bed yet?” the customer barked, making them both jump. He saw their startled reactions and waved them away, frowning.

This guy had clearly been born frowning.

“That’ll be four, fifty-nine,” Anna said, as the till dinged.

Honestly, he looked like he was sucking a lemon as he rifled one hand through his pockets, chucking various pieces of change out on the counter among old receipts, bus ticket stubs and loyalty cards.

 _It’s a nice suit_ , Lewy thought, _it’s a pity he disrespects the pockets by having so much crap in them._

Anna pulled the largest Styrofoam cup from the top of the stack and marked the preferences with the felt-tip she pulled from her apron. Lewy leaned over and plucked it from her hand.

“Hold on,” he murmured, turning one of the stubs towards him. “Ask him for his name.”

Anna flattened his hand under hers. “Robert,” she hissed, in that warning tone that sent most people running for cover. “We don’t need his name. He’s the only customer in the shop.”

“I know,” he raised his other hand to his lips.

“Excuse me,” she asked, primly. “ _Sir._ ”

The guy turned, and scowled at her. Anna ignored him. Lewy recognised that she was wasted behind a counter, and should really pursue politics.

The guy looked at her and looked at the pen and then looked at the cup and seemed to be unable to link the three. “Your name,” Anna offered, helpfully.

“Uh,” he said. “Wojciech.”

Huh. Well, there wasn’t much fun to be had with Wojciech.

Lewy paused with his hand over the cup. He could hear the other member of the phone conversation begin to moan. It must have been a terrible excuse, because Wojciech snarled “oh, _shut up!”_ back down the line.

“Just,” he said, dismissing Lewy with a pathetic, desperate limp wrist. He looked so worn out that Lewy almost felt sorry for him. “Wojciech Schez-knee.” And he went back to yelling down the phone.

Anna reached out and clamped her hand firmly over Lewy’s wrist. “Robert,” she hissed, low, almost under her breath. “ _No._ ”

“Oh my God,” he said. “His second name ends in a ‘y’. _Please_ Anna,” he begged, “let me unleash the adverb possibilities.”

He didn’t wait for her answer, even though she opened her mouth to probably object, scrawling the first word that came to mind on to the cup and setting about tilting the milk pitcher under the steam wand of the coffee machine. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Wojciech wander back towards the door, scanning out the window into the rain.

He secured the cap and placed it back on the counter. Wojciech didn’t even look up when he swooped over and lifted the coffee up, holding his phone to his shoulder with the edge of his cheek and securing the satchel on his shoulder.

“Jack… _Jack!_ ” he was snapping down the phone. “I have the coffee, alright? _Jesus_ , right- I’m getting on the bus now-“

The door dinged closed after him.

“Out of interest,” Anna asked, coming over to stand beside him as they watched him disappear in to the rain. “What did you write?”

“Snooty,” Lewy replied, proudly. “Wojciech Snooty.”

“Thanks not an adverb,” Anna said, after a second. “If it was, it would have been _snootily_.”

“Give a guy a break,” Lewy sighed. “I was under pressure. I’ll know for again, won’t I?”

“Yeah. When he comes in here and gets your ass fired.”

“He won’t,” Lewy announced confidently, “because if he does: you’ll back me up and say it wasn’t me. Won’t you.”

He could practically hear Anna rolling her eyes.

“… Or he just won’t come back again. Serves him right.” He snorted. “Huh, venti macchiato. The whole point of a macchiato is that it’s small. Could he have asked for a more obnoxious coffee?”

“Too bad,” Anna said. She reached up on her toes and patted his hair flat. “You were so het up on defending my honour, you missed the bit where he was rather cute, actually.”

“I honestly didn’t notice,” Lewy lied.

Jack was holding one of the doors open as Woj stormed inside.

“Well,” he said, lightly, and with the air of impending sarcasm. “You look _dry_.”

Woj pushed the coffee in to his hands as he stalked past him. “There,” he said, “are you now satisfied, that I had to act the prick, ordering your stupid coffee?” He stopped in front of the elevator, jamming his thumb several times on the “Up” button of the keypad. “Since when do you drink coffee, anyway?”

“Since right now,” Jack chimed happily. He praised the lid from the take-away cup and took a slurp of the foam. “Yum- _my_.”

Woj sighed, paused to curse the universe, and jabbed the button with a little more force.

“That’s not going to make it come _a-nnn-y_ faster,” Jack now had a foam moustache, and it would have been funny, if Woj had been in a better mood. And it was past eleven a.m. “Actually, it’s probably going to break it.”

Woj focused all of his worldly hate for elevators, rain, bus drivers, and snarky baristas, and mostly Jack, in to his glare.

Sadly, Jack was probably the only one immune to it. If possible, it may have made him _happier_.

“You owe me, bro,” he sang. “You owe me _so bad_. You’re not going to get fired because our boss will be sitting in his nice, toasty office; and it’s all thanks to me.” And he took another large mouthful of his coffee, to reinforce his point.

The elevator dinged open. Woj considered not letting Jack in it.

“I’ve paid you back,” he snapped. He examined his hair in the dim elevator mirror, and despaired at the soppy mess it had dissolved in to. “I got you your stupid complicated coffee. All you had to do was open the doors and turn the heating on half an hour before anyone got here. I’ve paid back the favour.”

“For the week bro,” Jack slurped loudly. “We agreed that I would do this until Friday, so you may actually show up some of the days. I seem to remember that you owe me coffee _for the week_.”

Woj had to admit that this was a very good pay-off. “Then you can live with the Café Nero across the road.” Woj straightened his blazer, most of his had been saved by his coat. “If you don’t have any objections, which I know you don’t; because you just admitted that you can’t tell good coffee.” He could always cross the wet patches on his cuffs behind his back when he was dealing with the Boss Man. Hmmmm.

The elevator doors opened on their floor and Woj marched out, in a straight line towards the bathroom, and crouched under the hand drier, waving his hands until the steady stream of hot air began to warm his poor, cold scalp.

“Hey,” Jack was yelling. Woj cricked his neck under his shoulder, not particularly inclined towards leaving the warmth, for what was probably bullshit from Jack. Bullshit or just more smugness.

Jack was staring at the side of the cup and squinting at it.

“Dude,” he said. “Listen, you see this coffee, right-“

“Does it concern my life in the next fifteen seconds?” Woj snapped.

“But-“

“Dear _Lord_ ,” Woj pulled his head out from under the hand drier. “ _What?”_

Jack tore his eyes from the cup, grinning at it like it was a winning lottery ticket. Given that his coffee was very ritzy, was totally over-rated and disgustingly over-priced: it really, probably, wasn’t even that far off a lottery ticket.

“This is a good coffee. The best coffee. You may need to get me another one, like at that same coffee shop, tomorrow. Or the deal’s off.”

The rest of Woj’s morning passed almost without incident, bar the usual audit drama.

“It’s kind of like,” Jack had said, “a corporate level-up on a full high school inspection. Everyone has to be early and polite, like that’s how we’ve been doing it all along.”

“Easy for you to say,” Olive said, his back stretching with an audible _click_. “ _You_ don’t have to show them around. My cheeks hurt from fake-smiling. I mean, they could have given this job to Alexis. They could have literally given it to anyone else.”

“Yes, but you’re like. Taller. It looks better.”

Woj couldn’t see, but he could hear them all frowning; trying to decide if Mesut had a point.

“Not Woj, though,” Jack pointed out. “He looks like an Edvard Munch print, all of the time.”

“You know,” Woj called, over the cubicle divider; “just because you can’t see me, has literally never meant that I can’t hear _you_. So, fuck off.”

“They walls have ears,” he heard Mesut say in a conspiratorial whisper, before they collapsed in to giggles.

Towards the end of lunch- an extra large breakfast burrito because honestly, he deserved it- he started to notice a weird tightening sensation towards the back of his throat.

By four p.m., this had escalated to a bit of a pain along the bridge of his nose.

Before he left the office, he had to plug tissue up it to quell the stream off goo that was in a rush to suddenly vacate his body.

On the bus, he cluster-sneezed so loud that an old dear got a huge fright and dropped her shopping all over the jerking floor. Like Woj didn’t already feel terrible, she then insisted on giving him a can of chicken soup, and told him to go home and sleep.

Woj wished, in bed, that he had been able to taste the soup. But he wasn’t sure if he blamed this head cold, or the brand.

The next morning, the symptoms had all combined to make climbing out of bed nearly impossible; and it had nearly nothing to do with the sea of crumpled, used tissues that he then had to wade through.

His head throbbed. His bones ached. His breakfast tasted like cardboard.

 _Maybe I should just quit,_ he wondered, glancing longingly at his couch, and at the remote.

He resolved to borrow Santi’s pillow and nap later in the office.

Anna was kicking him. Kicking him on his _bad shin._

“He’s back?”

“Who’s back?” The pain had made Lewy accidentally drown a coffee in cinnamon sprinkle. “ _Anna!”_

“ _Snooty_ ,” Anna whispered. Then actually _giggled_?

“ _Who?”_ Lewy asked, like he’d forgotten. Then he looked up. “Oh, _no_.”

Walking up to the counter was none other than Snooty himself. And if he’d looked bad yesterday, if possible, today he was _worse_. He looked kind of grey, and the colour of bad eggs in the fluorescent shop light. His eyes had receded even further back in to his head, and he looked like his might murder someone, the way people sometimes did when they had to walk through the rain this early in the morning, playing concertina a few times with uncooperative umbrella spokes.

Lewy’s job flashed before his eyes. Then he remembered that he hated his job.

It became clear, however, that Snooty was not out after vengeance, when he, between sniffs, asked for another ridiculous coffee, and blew his nose loudly in to a well crumpled tissue that he had pulled- Lewy considered, rather unhygienically- from his sleeve. Equally, he appeared to have invested in an umbrella this morning, and also was not shouting in to his phone.

Lewy thought for a second, then pulled another felt tip from his apron.

“Good morning!” he said cheerily, when he handed the filled cup over.

Wojciech looked confused for a second, and took the cup carefully from him.

 _Knots in his eyebrows like nothing else_ , Lewy thought, determined to keep his own wrinkle free.

“No,” Wojciech croaked back, after a second. Then he turned and walked out of the shop.

“Rude,” Lewy decided to note, to the guy behind him in line. This guy at least offered up an apologetic smile.

“He’s a regular, right?” he asked Anna, because he had surely seen the blond quiff before.

“Yes,” Anna replied, elbows on the counter, frowning at her phone. “Lukasz. About time you noticed, too. He smiles at you about four times every time he buys a coffee.”

“Oh.” Lewy paused. “He does?”

“Don’t pretend that you don’t notice,” Anna said, exhausted. “Come on, what witty name did you come up with for grumpy boots today?”

“It’s good,” Lewy said, unsure. “It’s really good.”

“Okay,” Anna lifted her head from her phone. “I’m waiting.”

“Sneezy.” Lewy announced it, deciding to be proud, because it was done now.

Anna’s jaw dropped before she burst out laughing. The result was a nasty hacking sound.

“Don’t do that again,” Lewy said, “you sound like a constipated duck. It’s beneath you.”

“Sorry,” Anna spluttered, finally covering her mouth with her hand. It wasn’t an apology though. “’ _Sneezy_ ’?”

“What?” Lewy whined.

“Are you going to go through all of the Seven Dwarves?” Anna wiped under her eyes. “Will you have the time?”

“I’m not _that_ predictable,” Lewy shot back, even though he was now going through the other six in his head, for ideas.

“You _could_ be Snow White, you know,” Anna said, half-thoughtfully, half- going back to her phone. “You look a bit anaemic. And you have, like, black hair.”

“Oh, well spotted.” Lewy turned his back to the counter, and lazily began something resembling tricep dips. “Problem is, I am a bit more of a Prince Charming, you know. I look pretty good in epaulettes. Meanwhile, I have it on good authority that I don’t look all that good in a dress.”

Anna looked him up and down, arching one very tidy brow.

“Oh my God,” he said. “You’re picturing me in your dresses, aren’t you?”

“So much potential,” she sighed, going back to her phone.

Woj was aware Jack had arrived at his desk, because he suddenly heard him cackling in the opposite cubicle. He actually could have been there for ages, only Woj had been too deep in his own self-pity and several layers of company-branded fleeces to hear or notice.

“What,” he croaked. He could barely hear himself, so blocked was every orifice.

“ _Hello_ , sunshine.” Jack’s head appeared over the top of the desk. “Under the weather?”

“No,” Woj attempted to be funny, if a little sluggishly. “I am in prime health. Ran a marathon this morning. Also, did you get your coffee.”

“Nope,” Jack declared, while taking a long drink from the cup Woj had carefully placed on his desk when he’d arrived first. “I did not.”

The edges of Woj’s lungs ached when he coughed. “Is it Friday yet? Are the audits over? Did we survive? Also, have you seen Santi? I’m going to need his pillow.”

“Hey bro,” Jack said, clearly not listening. “There’s something about this coffee, right, ‘cause like; have you noticed-“

“Jack,” Woj moaned. “I went through enough trouble to get the thing. Leave me alone.” He moaned loud enough to make Jack stop, which was something he’d never accomplished before. Clearly, it paid to be pathetic, and he should get the flu more often. “Go _away_.”

Jack blinked, opened his mouth. “Alright,” he shrugged finally, and disappeared behind the blue carpeted headboard.

Woj wondered if, maybe, something was going on, and did he really care.

“The news looks especially tragic this morning,” Lewy noted, staring at the muted tv screen in the corner of the shop.

“And _you’re_ especially cheerful this morning. Thank you,” Anna said the last to the first of their weary-looking customers (morning people didn’t tend to frequent the place around this time) as she took the change from him.

“I am _always_ cheerful,” Lewy retorted. His eyes flickered to the clock, and then to the door.

Today, he was ready for Snooty, Sneezy Wojciech. Today, he had prepared.

“No,” Anna said, slowly, pausing so as not to shout over the drone of the bean grinder. “First thing in the morning you are _never_ cheerful. We haven’t fought _once_ over muffins, or movies, or _anything_. I had Jesse McCartney playing in the car when I picked you up, and you haven’t said a _word_.”

“That’s because I’m coming to the conclusion that _Right Where You Want Me_ is an underrated classic, as an album.” Lewy kept his eyes straight ahead. “You know that.”

Anna’s jaw dropped. “Nope,” she said, in wonder. “No I did _not_. Especially when you tend to judge his musical ability by your opinion of his hair.”

“Hey, hey- I like his hair,” Lewy argued. “I could do bangs.”

Anna gave him a fond look, and smiled a little wider at the next customer. Lewy had to practically chew his own grin from his face.

Wednesday. Wednesday meant two things for Woj. First, it meant that he had already survived two full days of the audit. Given the state he had been in yesterday, this was already a miracle. Second, it meant only two days left until weekend, if he could just make it to five-thirty this afternoon- though never mind the weekend, the minute he was home Friday evening, his only plans concerned him, his bed and many, many takeaways.

Wednesday. By Wednesday, he had acclimatised enough after the weekend to only have to snooze his alarm one solitary time, and even managed to drag his wrecked corpse of a body under the shower for several minutes. The steam from the shower still irritated his lungs, but moving his joints didn’t feel like a chore any more.

Just as well, because he’d used up all of the tissue in the house; and had now graduated to kitchen roll. He didn’t have the resources in his flat for much more of this cold.

He made it to the bus stop with ten minutes to go, bleary and cold, but ten whole minutes early.

He almost forgot Jack’s coffee, even though he’d been staring, confused, across the road at the coffee house as he’d been walking up the road… wondering why on earth it was resonating with him.

He groaned, and pulled himself upright. Asking favours of Jack always meant paying double in sheer _effort_. And they always came with the threat that refusal to comply would mean no help in the future, and Woj didn’t want to take that chance.

It was a pity, really, that he had to ask Jack so many favours.

“Morning,” he said, to the girl at the counter, “could I get a… uh…”

“Venti macchiato?” she finished.

Woj paused. She was smiling. He wondered if being this bright-eyed and bushy tailed was better or worse for pawning off coffees this early in the morning.

“How…?” he asked, amazed.

“Like yesterday?” She blinked at him, and smiled some more.

Woj couldn’t remember anything about yesterday, apart from that he had been miserable. Like, way more miserable than normal: stuck between a head cold and his ass so perilously on the line.

“Yeah,” he said. She was nice. He decided that she looked like she ran a tight ship, and he may even venture enough to eat one of those muffins that were on display. His eyes flickered to her name-tag, _Anna_ , and he hoped afterwards that it hadn’t been interpreted as a boob stare. “Could I,” he cleared his throat, because she looked surprised, surprised enough for him to also be surprised, “uh, have a blueberry muffin too?” He thought about it, before he added a: “Please.”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Sure. Your coffee will be right up, Sn- uh. Sir.”

Woj carefully counted out the change, pausing briefly to offer the guy who then arrived in the door an encouraging, weary nod. It was one of those awkward situations where he’d looked up, met a total stranger’s eyes, and totally stalled.

“ _You’re_ better today,” someone said.

For a minute, Woj thought it was the new customer, responding to his nod. Then he realised that it was the guy at the end of the arm that was now holding out Jack’s coffee across the counter.

Only then did he wonder what the hell he meant. And why the hell did it sound like an accusation, and not congratulatory.

“Huh?” he asked.

“I said,” the guy repeated, “that you’re better today.”

Woj thought that the guy had very blue eyes. But like, invasively blue. Like he was being scanned.

His venture in to the shop yesterday really was that much of a blur.

“There’s this thing,” he responded, equally slowly. “Called _pharmaceuticals_. Readily available. Easy to use.”

The guy blinked, surprised. “Right,” he said. Then he looked _pleased_.

Woj didn’t want to be mean, but not only was it hardwired in him somewhere, and even though he wanted this- _good_ might be pushing it- neutral mood to last, it was always a delicate affair.

And this there was this asshole, who had the audacity to look _pleased_ that he had reverted back to it. He looked pleased in an evil kind of way with steeped cheekbones, like whoever had designed his face had decided to push the angle to the very limit of what they could get away with.

He jiggled the cup, enough to get Woj’s attention refocused on his mission for this morning. “Enjoy your coffee.”

“Right.” Woj was still somewhere between offended and forcefully disinterested as he left the shop.

“ _Anna_.”

“No. _No._ ” Anna finished floofling up her hair with her fingers in the staff room mirror. “If you didn’t like _The Breakfast Club_ , I’m allowed to not like your silly space movie.”

“ _Interstellar?_ A _silly space movie_?” Lewy implored. “Christopher Nolan doesn’t make _silly space movies_. Did you- but _Anna_ , the _ending_.”

“-was a little too nicely rounded off, don’t you think? Pass me my bag, would you?” She caught her handbag when Lewy threw it at her. “No need to get so grumpy. _Inception_ had a good ending. The ending of _Inception_ may be the best thing about _Inception_.” She fished out three lipstick cases and examined them carefully. “That, and the fact they managed to cast Leonardo di Caprio.”

“Why are we friends?” Lewy wailed.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be,” Anna said gravely. “And maybe you should walk home?” She grinned at him, deciding on a lip colour and smoothing it on.

Lewy’s pause to come up with a good comeback- thank god, because he was totally out- was interrupted by Mario’s head poking around the door.

“Uh,” he said. “Guys.”

“Uh oh,” Lewy said.

“Yeah,” Mario rubbed his face, looking beat. Which Lewy didn’t consider fair, given that it was lunchtime, and Mario had probably only got out of bed in the last half an hour. “Dude here wants to see the guys who are on at like, seven in the morning. That’s you two, right?”

Lewy looked at Anna.

“Uh oh,” Anna said.

Lewy was already wondering why Wojciech had chosen this morning’s coffee to get insulted. It was harmless. And genius.

“What does he look like?” Lewy maybe had time to bolt for the back door. He shift was over. Technically, he wasn’t here anymore.

Right?

Mario shrugged. “Just a normal dude, you know?”

“No,” Lewy said.

“Mar,” Anna tried gently. “This guy. Is he really tall?”

Mario thought about it for a second. “Not particularly,” he admitted.

Lewy only knew relief, because Mario routinely called upon him to reach for things on high shelves. So this guy wasn’t taller than Lewy.

 _He was safe_.

Anna was frowning though.

“Relax,” Lewy told her. “We’re _fine_. We probably didn’t tell a celiac that there was gluten in their muffin, and they want us to make bigger signs, you know. Or that guy who keeps trying to get us to serve almond milk.”

“Robert,” she said. “ _I_ keep trying to get us to serve almond milk.”

“You know,” Mario said thoughtfully. “If I had to describe him… he kind of looks like… ah! An elf.”

“An elf?” Lewy echoed.

“Yeah,” Mario confirmed, pleased. “So, can you guys come and get him off my back now?”

 _Who?_ Anna mouthed, behind Mario’s back.

Lewy shrugged, baffled.

“Hi,” the guy said, holding out his hand. Lewy measured him up, and decided that Mario was right: this guy could totally put on a Santa hat and would be a roaring success at the fake Lapland they had down at the local mall every Christmas. Totally could pass as an elf. “You’re the guys who work in the morning, right?”

“Uh,” Lewy said.

“Why?” Anna asked. She took the guy’s hand instead, stepping in like she was Lewy’s legal representative.

“My name’s Jack,” he explained, “since Monday I’ve asked my friend, Wojciech, to pick up coffees for me. Coffee’s that one of you have been- ah, _creatively annotating._ ”

There was silence, while Anna and Lewy blinked at him.

“Please,” Jack gestured at one of the café tables beside him.

Lewy sat down rather heavily.

“So,” he began carefully. “Saying this has been happening. How much trouble would someone, _allegedly_ , be in?”

“Trouble?” Jack cried. “Nah mate, I’m here to _congratulate you_.”

“Con- _grat_ -ulate?” Anna apparently had trouble digesting the syllables.

“Guys,” Jack was saying, rolling his eyes. “You are geniuses. Today’s was especially good. _Wojciech the Skyscraper._ ” He lifted his hands, imitating spreading a banner on the wall. _“_ That’s _classic_ , man.”

“Is it?” Lewy tried carefully. Anna stood on his foot.

“ _Yes_.” Jack looked at Lewy, then Anna, then Lewy again. “Maybe I should explain,” he said to Lewy, obviously figuring out the culprit. “I don’t drink coffee. I’ve been sending him in here every morning, purely, to piss him off. We’re on the same team, here, you and I.”

“He’s your,” Anna licked the inside of her teeth, “ _friend_ , you say.”

“Oh please,” Jack said. “He deserves it.”

Lewy was slowly deciding that he liked this guy.

“What does Wojciech think?” he asked. “Of the nicknames?”

“Woj? Oh, he hasn’t noticed.” Lewy must have looked disappointed, because Jack continued: “He’s kind of preoccupied right now. Work stuff. But _I,_ am absolutely loving them.”

Lewy grinned.

Anna had to go then and ruin the mood.

“But he’s going to stop now,” she said, with a little too much nudge. “ _Aren’t_ you, Robert?”

“Uh,” Lewy started, and nearly said _No_. Then he decided against it. “Is Wojciech ever going to notice?” he wondered, out loud, and sort of at Jack.

Jack shrugged. “It might take him a while. I dunno.”

Lewy paused, in pretend thought.

“How much longer do I have?”

“He’s buying me coffees until Friday, but I don’t think he’ll venture in too often after. He said he had a pretty below-par muffin this morning, which he then gave three-quarters of to me. He likes his food with aspartame and saturated fats.”

“What else does he think those muffins are made of?” Anna muttered.

So Lewy only had two more days to practise this mastery of the English language. Well, he assumed the rest of their customers weren’t quite as oblivious, and he wouldn’t get this kind of opportunity again.

“Just something else,” Jack said suddenly. “I, hum. I really don’t like coffee? So tomorrow can you make it, I dunno, a sneaky green tea… or something?”

Thursday. _Thursday_. One more day until the end. _The end_.

No more audit. No more getting up at even more unreasonable hours than usual.

Woj decided that he might as well be already on holidays. That was until Mesut, the forever bearer of bad news, tapped him on the shoulder; drawing his attention away from his computer and the numbers that were _so_ _much_ less likely to hurt his feelings.

“No,” he said, as Mesut broke in to a delighted grin.

“I didn’t say anything,” Mesut pointed out, just looking like he was having such a good time.

“You never have anything good to say,” Woj retorted. “It’s only ever requests. To borrow things. Or help you before a deadline. Don’t tell me it’s another deadline.”

“Deadlines are for meeting,” Mesut chimed. “But no, unfortunately for you, that’s not it.” Woj didn’t even have time to fully fill up with dread before he continued: “the Boss Man wants to see you.”

“You’re lying,” Woj said. “I’m going to pretend that I didn’t just hear that.”

“Are you _trembling_?” Mesut asked. “He doesn’t _bite_.”

“Ohhh,” Woj said, too carefully. “Are you sure?”

Mesut patted him on the shoulder sympathetically with one of his tiny hands. “Good luck. He’s expecting you.”

Woj groaned, and hoped Mesut correctly interpreted it as a strong suggestion that he should now leave Woj alone, in peace, to appreciate the last few moments of life.

Eventually Woj managed to pull himself up, take some long, calming breaths (that didn’t really work) and turned his attention in the direction of Wenger’s office.

Which is about when Jack decided to pop up in his peripheral vision.

“Hey,” he called. “Can I borrow you for a minute?”

“No,” Woj sighed. “I have a date with destiny. Can’t it wait?”

Jack shook his head. “A second, then.”

Oh. That _was_ tempting.

“Alright,” Woj conceded, tearing his gaze from doom. “What?”

Jack picked his coffee cup up again, the one Woj was continuing risk to pick up for him every morning. Only one more day of that, too.

“Here,” he held it out to Woj.

“No,” Woj said. “Why.”

“Look at it,” Jack said. “Is there something unusual about it?”

“Should there be?”

“No,” Jack shook his head. “But there _is_.”

Woj found the cup- the empty cup, he quickly realised- thrust in his hands.

“Jack,” he began very carefully, with literally all of his restraint, “ _Not_ the time.”

“Look at it, bro,” Jack said. “Just look at the goddamn cup.”

Woj looked at the cup. Woj squinted.

“ _Wojciech_ ,” he read slowly, “ _Supercilious_?”

Jack snorted, turning it in to a cough.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Woj demanded.

“I looked it up,” Jack grinned. “I believe it is a very fancy way of saying, that you are up your own hole.”

Woj was momentarily out of words. However, luckily it was only momentary.

“What?” He said, weary. “Why would you _bother_ , Jack? What is this?”

“Oh,” Jack said, understanding. “ _I_ didn’t do that. Your _barista_ did that. He’d been doing it all week. Funny, right?”

“Er,” Woj said. “No. It’s pretty fucking rude, actually.”

“Come off it,” Jack said, jiggling it in Woj’s face. Or since he was too short to reach Woj’s face, his chest region. “Like you’re in a position to complain about dishing out smarmy insults.”

“I dish out smarmy insults,” Woj countered, insulted “to people I _know_. It’s _different_.”

Jack shook his head. “Nah. I can totally picture the scene, you know? You and your morning self. Snapping at everyone. Bored guy sees a window of opportunity… So far he has called you snooty, sneezy and a skyscraper. Just by the way.”

“ _Just by the way_ ,” Woj sneered. “Why the hell are you telling me? You only have one coffee morning to go, and I am probably about to get my ass fired.”

“Coz,” Jack beamed at him, “I mean. _Supercilious._ He definitely had to research that, right? That’s an awful lot of effort to piss you off, isn’t it?”

Woj knew exactly who it was, too. Definitely, the ridiculously cheek-boned barista.

“Exactly,” Jack continued, when he saw Woj thinking about it. “So, I want to see what you’re gonna do about that.”

The next morning, Wojciech skipped the queue up to Anna and made a determined beeline for Lewy’s end of the counter.

“Good morning,” Lewy said, carefully.

Wojciech was tall enough to rest his elbows on the counter top that most people could barely see over.

“It was you,” he said. “Wasn’t it.”

Lewy began wiping down the machine for the second time. He shrugged, in what he hoped was an innocent way, and smiled blankly.

“Listen,” Wojciech continued. “It’s Friday. Yesterday my boss told me that I was being transferred to this way lax department, and I will probably never have to get up this early again. So, I’m feeling particularly lenient today.”

“Okay,” Lewy said, bracing himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anna telling a customer to shush so she could watch.

“I’m interested,” Wojciech said, “to know what play you were going to use on my second name this morning. I’d like to offer my opinion on it.”

Lewy thought. Lewy thought of a way to get this out with the least amount of collateral damage. Then finally, he decided on the truth.

“I hadn’t decided,” Lewy started, casually, “between, _I regret nothing_ and, _are you free this evening?_ ” He began his third wipe-down of the machine.

“Hmph,” Wojciech said, looking like he was trying to stop his lips curling up at the edges, “that’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

 

 


End file.
